


Locksmith

by cyevi



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: AU, BVDN, Cyberpunk, Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyevi/pseuds/cyevi
Summary: Vegeta has stolen something from Frieza. Unfortunately, it's locked in a box. Fortunately, a certain blue-haired genius just happens to be a locksmith trapped at the spaceport where he's currently garrisoned. Drabble for the 2019 July BVDN: Glow.





	1. What's in the Box?

**Author's Note:**

> As per the rules of the drabble, the first chapter (based off the prompts) is all ages appropriate. No promises after chapter 1.
> 
>   
> 

**Prompt: Lava Lamp**

For once, Raditz's directions had been right. The locksmith's shop was tucked at the back of an alley with five other narrow bars. Three stories above the broken brick street, strings of laundry waved in the early evening wind and flapped a greeting. The bars were mostly empty, only a few locals peppering the seats. Vegeta glanced down the alley, not particularly liking the lack of alternative exits other than flying out. He was already overdue back to the main ship. Stealth was a necessity.

He passed the patrons in the other establishments without eye contact and headed to the nondescript shop. Passing through a useless front curtain in the doorway, he wondered what kind of locksmith would fail to have a door capable of closing. Around the shop, a few locks in glass cabinets sat on display with reasonable prices and a small pile of metal scraps sat next to the store counter. Hanging from the ceiling, an odd blue light filled with viscous liquid blobs slowly drifting about cast globular shadows around the room. Vegeta approached the empty counter and rapped his knuckles on the top a few times.

“Just a minute!”

Vegeta turned around and glanced at the curtained doorway, listening to the alleyway. A few calls for another glass of the weakest ale his garrison had ever come across, utensils scraping on plates, drunken, tired chatter. No street patrols. From the back of the shop, metal clattered against metal, sliding along a dusty surface. Finally, a few footsteps unevenly and gingerly weaving through the back room. It was very likely a mess back there. He didn't have the luxury, nor interest in finding a cleaner shop. In fact, this was perfect, as long as the shopkeep could assist him.

“Alrighty, sorry about the wait,” she huffed and stepped up to the counter behind him. When he didn't turn around immediately, she mockingly rapped her knuckles on the counter next to his elbow. “Hey, High Top. Time is credits.”

Vegeta scanned the alleyway one more time for suspicious sounds before turning around and meeting the eyes of the most Saiyan-looking alien he had seen in the better part of the last five cycles. His lips twisted in confusion as he took in her blue hair, half covered in grease and grit. Swallowing back the observation, he calmly placed a small, metal box on the counter.

**Prompt: Jellyfish**

Maybe it was just the light in the shop?

Maybe his hair looked blue right now as well. He chanced a glance to the right, hoping to catch his own reflection in one of the glass cabinets while the woman examined the box. Unable to position himself without twisting his body away from the box, he turned his full attention back to the woman. Her frame was slight, her fingers particularly lithe. She barely looked capable of even moving around some of the metal scraps in her shop. But that hair. Even coated with grime, it drifted through the evening breeze like the tendrils of a deep sea jelly. There was no rigidity to it at all.

It wasn't just the light. She was definitely another species.

“Ok, interesting item,” she paused and rotated the box in her fingers a few times. She scraped the surface with her nail, held the box up into the light and looked underneath. “Am I to guess you need this opened?”

“Correct. What will that cost?” Vegeta reluctantly tucked away his observations and crossed his arms.

“Best guess is...” she paused, her full attention on the box, “...three hundred thousand credits up front, with an additional million upon completion.” She tapped the top of the box twice with her finger and set the box on the counter, looking directly at her customer.

To his credit, Vegeta didn't flinch, but the price stabbed him in the gut. After five years being under Frieza's heel, clawing his way to almost the top of the elite planet cleaners, he was still only given a stipend of fifty thousand credits each cycle. Even with careful thefts and pawnings after a purge, he and his small band of Saiyans had only managed to stash about two hundred thousand credits into an off world account.

“You're a terrible comedian, Woman. Tell me the actual cost.”

She cocked her head and squinted her blue eyes at him.

“Three hundred thousand up front,” she enunciated again. “Plus, an additional million upon completion. However, if you're willing to barter,” she trailed off and allowed her eyes to meander down his face and onto his chest. As her gaze reached his waist, she smiled slowly.

**Prompt: Nightlights and Satin**

For once, getting stuck on this backwater pit might have been a good thing. It had been a couple years since she last encountered another human and this guy was a tall drink of water. Chiseled face, hair like a stoked fire, and muscles all the way down.

But she wasn't an idiot. The carved out PTO soldier on the other side of her counter wasn't a run of the mill grunt. He carried himself with an unusual amount of reserve. Something about his appearance as well didn't quite fit in with the rank and file either. His manner was too polished, his words too formal. And a scan of his exceptionally well-fitting uniform showed almost no wear and tear. This man was undoubtedly an elite.

She was sure he was hoping to play the negotiation off as an unimportant errand, but his tense demeanor belied the importance of his task. This box was valuable to him. More so, she was certain he wasn't even supposed to have it. As soon as he had asked for a price, it became clear he had likely stolen it from someone stronger than him and needed it opened without drawing much attention.

The box probably belonged to an upper echelon elite in the PTO and whatever was in the box, would easily be worth a million credits. If she had an ounce less nerve, Bulma would have opened the box free of charge and hoped to never hear from this man again.

But those eyes caught her as soon as he had turned around. Coal black and cool as a moonless night, her mind had immediately yanked him into a satin bed under golden pot lights. If she played this just right, she might get him for a night in the city and enough credits for a ticket off this mudball. She looked up and leaned against the counter, being sure to let her low cut tank top do a bit of the talking.

“Short of blowing up this box and its contents, you're not going to find another smith on this planet that can open this. It has a class six locking mechanism that has been covertly sealed with a decoherence fail safe.”

He parted his lips but she spoke before the question formed.

“In other words, if you don't let _me_ open it, whatever is inside won't exist anymore.”

**Prompt: Outrun**

She could see him considering the unspoken proposition as his eyes wandered well below hers. He cleared his throat, poorly hiding a swallowed breath, and turned his body half toward the doorway.

“The price is excessive, Woman.” He glanced at the door way again, and stiffened. His entire demeanor reminded her of a wolf on the hunt. He seemed taut and tightly wound. And while she was sure he had gotten his fill of her idea of negotiation, his attention had shifted to the alley. He didn't want to be here, and this conversation was taking much too long. She took the hint. She dropped her voice and picked up the box, offering it to him.

“I don't need your name. Just my tools and your agreement to my new price, and then we can leave. Deal?”

He stared at her doorway, and in the globular light of her shop, he seemed impossibly alive. Her EMF lamp gave him a slight shimmer as it bounced against his latent energy pool. Something that only happened to her strongest customers. An idea struck her.

“You can fly, right?”

“Yes.”

“I have just the spot. There's enough activity that you'll stay under the radar, so long as you can be gone for one night.”

He gritted his teeth and kept his attention on the alley as he considered.

“I'll clean up while you decide,” she purred. “I promise the discount will be worth your time.” Bulma slipped into the back of the shop.

Vegeta scoffed and raised his hand to his scouter, tapping it once.

“Raditz, what's the temperature tonight?”

_Hot and dry. No sign of a cold front._

“Received. Schedule me in for a spar in the training deck tomorrow at 08:00.”

_Received. Enjoy the warm front, your Highness._

Vegeta rolled his eyes.

“Schedule yourself for 08:00 as well.”

Vegeta heard his subordinate grumble, then smack his chest in salute before he tapped off the communicator. He let out a sigh he hadn't realized he was holding and stepped toward the alley. Maybe he could spare one night. She most likely wanted them to head to the north side of the continent to Zrulas, the second largest city on the planet. The glowing megalopolis was an economic hub and offered little in the way of recreation.

She emerged from the back of the shop, body hugged in a short, slick black dress.

He could definitely spare one night.

**Prompt: Black Light**

A very, very quiet voice in the back of Vegeta's head prayed that the woman couldn't fly. It whispered fragmented thoughts about the scent of her flesh, those lithe fingers wrapped around his neck, her legs in his arms. It chided him for wearing gloves tonight.

“One night, and we'll talk final price after.” She stepped around the counter and clipped a small bracelet around her wrist. The device glowed briefly, displaying words in a language he was unfamiliar with, then turned black. Biotech, he guessed. “Can you carry me?”

Vegeta quickly picked up the box, shoved it in the back of his glove, and turned toward the doorway immediately, hoping he had been fast enough to hide the heat that rose to his cheeks.

“Easily. Let's go,” he barked a bit too sharply.

–

The urban core of Zrulas was dominated by towering skyscrapers, neon lined boulevards, and high end night clubs. The difference between the Northern city she had taken them to and the sketched out, slave-filled port next to the Southern space dock couldn't have been more extreme. The likelihood that Vegeta would run into any of his shipmates here was minimal. On the other hand, this was exactly the type of spot Frieza liked to slum around while his crews got drunk on poison at the docks. Thankfully, the woman had pointed to her preferred location and he could drop his power level soon after entering the city. He had already set his scanner to bounce his signal, making it look like he was back on the ship. So unless they ran into any of the other elites, or he needed to blow something up, his presence should stay unnoticed tonight.

Another alley. This one was solid concrete, extending a good forty or fifty stories into the air, and had only one door in the center of one building. She walked ahead of him, a sway in her hips that drew his attention he knew, in a dangerous way. At the door, she tapped her bracelet against a recessed panel. The frame illuminated with black light, bathing them both in a deep purple glow. The woman's hair took on an iridescent quality while her pink lips seemed far more lush than before.

She glanced at him and bit her lip as the pit of her stomach dropped out. The black light caused his black hair to take on a strange turquoise glow while his eyes reflected the light like a predator. So much for meeting another human, but damn if he wasn't close enough.

The door slid open after a heated moment and revealed a hazy lounge with very few guests, none of whom were socializing with one another and each using some kind of tech. The woman slipped over to the bar, quietly negotiated with the bartender who hid the lower half of her face behind a mask. The two seemed to disagree before the smith returned to Vegeta with a digital key.

“This way. Akus set us up with a decent vault, but she's not too keen on having PTO here, so,” she paused and looked him over once more. “You know, don't destroy anything.”

Vegeta stopped the smirk from forming and followed the woman down a side hall with a few doors. She tapped the key against a blank area of the wall, the frame lit up with black light again, and the door to the vault slid open. Stepping in, Vegeta's shoulders relaxed.

“Welcome to vault seven. The rooms here are bounded by an EMF that inhibits energy signatures, radio signals, and just about every other communication tech in this sector.” She walked over to a heavy, white leather couch and sat down, patting the cushion next to her. “In other words, what happens here, stays here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Vegeta .... What's in the box?


	2. Play Along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Prompt: Fret**

Bulma watched the soldier examine the room while unabashedly staring at his body. Across from the couch, a small table sat with a digital interface on one side, with a long set of seven strings along the short edge. Akus, the owner, must have upgraded the vaults recently. Frettech was still exclusive to underground hackers since it required familiarity with “Risky”: RSSC, Responsive Symbolic Symphonic Code. As the man passed by the couch, Bulma finally shifted her attention to the coiled wires along the table. Pressing one fingertip to the digital interface, a set of lighted symbols began to glow under the strings, indicating various options. Depending on where she grazed her fingers on the wires, the results would vary.

“We have all night.” As he walked to the back of the room, she tapped her fingers along the frets, examining the options. “If you like, I can order something to eat?”

The man looked like he could put away a meal, and if she was lucky, that would include her after he relaxed a bit. He gave an appreciative grunt while leaning around a wall to examine the bathroom.

She slid her finger along the second wire shifting the digital symbol on the table. The symbol changed from a hollow, yellow triangle to a magenta spiral and began blinking, much like a cursor on an old style console. Symbols below the neighboring wires pulsed and shifted in response. Bulma quickly strummed the visual code in a chord-like pattern. The digital screen to the side confirmed her dinner selection. With a second strum, she switched the lighting in the room from white to soft blue.

The soldier returned his attention to her and observed her from against the wall of the seating area. Bulma leaned back.

“How about you start by taking off your scouter? It's useless in here anyway.” She ran her fingers along the edge of her dress, revealing more of her milky thighs. “Then we can move onto more interesting things.”

**Prompt: Key**

The woman lounged on the white couch while inching that impossibly tight dress higher up her thighs. Black dress, blue hair, white couch and curves impossibly close to a Saiyan woman. Under the softer lighting, her skin took on a creamy complexion. Vegeta gave one final glance to the back wall, hoping the movement was enough to hide a swallowed breath.

_Focus. You have to negotiate a price for the box. Don't get carried away._

Vegeta unclipped the scouter on the side of his head as he returned his gaze to the blue-haired creature before him.

_Yet._

–

“Flex, don't pose, your Highness” Raditz tried to explain without laughing at Vegeta's awkward attempts. The attitude earned him a right cross and two extra hours of sparring.

“Dammit, Raditz,” Vegeta gripped his fist and grumbled. “I would send you on this mission, but there's no way this woman is going to fall for your brutish mannerisms. Now get a grip and continue.”

Raditz immediately reached for his own tail and gave it a hard squeeze. No way was he going to try and pop off from that innuendo and earn a day in the regeneration tank.

“The key is presentation. Show her what's available, but don't offer it. Women love that shit.” Raditz stood and wrapped his tail back around his waist. “Tease, don't take. Direct, don't demand. She'll be putty.”

–

“One night. Two hundred thousand credits.” Taking a cue from his subordinate, Vegeta pulled off his chest armor, dragging it over his head with both arms, and dropped it on the floor. As he brought his arms back down, he tensed his muscles with a calculated stretch.

The woman let out a faint, sweet sigh of approval. Always aiming for victory, Vegeta continued his play and pulled off the skin tight battle suit top in the same manner.

“Deal?”

**Prompt: Crescendo**

Her eyes traced his muscles. She let out a slow breath, then bit her lower lip.

“You're seriously suggesting that one night with you is worth over a million credits?” She raised one arm to the back of the couch and crossed her legs toward him, forcing the black dress to retreat to the tops of her thighs. She scanned him again, lingering at his hips.

Even with her attention elsewhere, Vegeta restrained his impulse to drop his gaze to consider the blue shadow cast by the edge of her dress over what remained of her still-covered thighs.

“No,” Vegeta stated.

He stepped toward the couch until he was within arm's reach of the woman. He looked down at his hands, avoiding her lap, and pulled off his white gloves. As he dropped them next to her, he reached one hand forward and placed a single finger under her chin, raising her gaze.

–

“Nothing wrong with not being a player, Vegeta,” Raditz argued, “But you have to play to your strengths to win.”

Vegeta grumbled and shoved his face into his hands. This was torture.

“So what if you're not the playful or uh … talkative type?” Raditz pulled Vegeta's hands off his face. “So you're the dark, broody, silent type. Work with it. Use your eyes. Do you know just how many chicks have told me they've creamed up just because you looked at them with that damn scowl of yours? The amount of pie you've passed up is ridiculous.”

–

Vegeta looked directly into her blue eyes, his own dark expression firm and steady as a crescendo of heat built between them.

“I'm suggesting that one night with me is worth more than that.”

**Prompt: Tempo**

As she mulled over the suggestion, he brushed a thumb across her lips. An electric shock sped from his touch past her lips, down her throat, through her stomach, and into her groin, pooling with wicked intensity. She parted her lips and very lightly licked his thumb without breaking his gaze.

Beside them, the table's display shifted from a purple waveform into a green pulsing arrow pointing toward the door to the vault. Bulma tilted her head away from his hand just enough to speak.

“Dinner's at the door.”

Before she could shift away from him, the soldier slid his hand along her jaw and redirected her gaze back to his.

“Dinner is in front of me,” he countered and pulled her forward, urging her body off the couch.

She followed and stood, a hand's width between their chests. He kept one thumb on the edge of her lips while his other hand slipped around her waist and settled at the base of her spine.

Bulma drowned in his eyes as the world shifted into a new tempo. Her heart sped up, her thoughts quieted down, and the man before her, breathing steadily, sent wave after wave of heat through her body. It had been SO long since she'd been with someone, much less someone so … _human._

She slipped her fingertips onto his chest and traced along the hard lines of his insanely well-sculpted body, starting at his pectorals then methodically down his abs. Before her fingers could brush across the soft tail wound around his waist, he flicked it behind him, away from her grasp, and yanked her against his chest, kissing her deeply. His palm dug into her spine while his fingers started gathering the material of her dress over her ass.

**Prompt: Amplify**

The woman tasted like charred honey. Her body folded against his, melting into his angular curves without a hint of resistance. As he wrapped one hand around to the back of her head, he tilted his head a bit, pressing into the kiss fervently and slipped his tongue along hers.

–

“If she's responsive to your advances, you're going to feel her soften,” Raditz continued. “This is critical. If she backs off, puts space between you, or even seems hesitant, you'll see her tighten up. Pressing on now will ruin everything. You'll get her angry. And you'll be more of an asshole than you usually are.”

Vegeta grunted, ignoring the insult, and paced in front of the table where Radtiz nursed his fifth ale.

“Understood. Well timed intimacy should elicit surrender.” Vegeta placed his hand over his mouth and tried to visualize the situation.

“Dammit, Vegeta. Stop comparing this to battle!” Raditz chugged the remainder of the cheap drink, slammed the glass on the table. “It's a conversation. You've got to listen, and look, and respond. If you're successful, you can amp up your advances. She'll tell you with her body where she wants your hands.”

–

He slipped his lower hand under the edge of the slinky fabric and grabbed her ass directly. The woman moaned into his kiss and raised one leg over his hip, her foot almost knocking the base of his tail. She reached her arms over his shoulders, pulling herself into his grip. Her reaction was so intense that it almost knocked him back a step. Taking the hint, he allowed his body to be moved by hers, and backed them both up to a nearby wall. He gripped the base of her hair and broke their kiss, leaning his head back against the wall.

“Take off that dress,” he rumbled. “I want to see what I've purchased for the night.”

**Prompt: Compose**

She licked her lips and smiled slowly.

“Oh, so you think _you_ have bought _me?_ ”

The locksmith took a step back and turned around. As she retreated, he reluctantly let his hands drop away from her body. He watched, holding his body still with a level of intense composure that he normally reserved for battle. She reached her hands behind her back and gripped at the long zipper that trailed along her spine. With frustrating slowness, she pulled the closure down, revealing a bare back and skin remarkably free of a single branding or lashmark.

It confirmed the intelligence report. This woman had never been subjected to the slave market and had somehow avoided being involuntarily recruited for the various military factions in this quarter. As the dress slipped from her waist, she glanced back over her shoulder with a faux modesty. His body responded and he tensed his muscles while his blood heated. This woman was dangerous. If she could survive the outskirts without a mark, he needed to proceed with caution. But damn if her taut ass, threaded with a black thong, wasn't shouting at him to throw all that to the wind.

“Lose the lace if you want me to slide my tongue across every inch of your flesh.” When she gave a soft moan, he knew he had won. His tail gave a little flick of approval as he pushed off the wall and stepped behind her. He leaned in without touching her and rumbled quietly, “Or, you could bend over right here, and I'll rip it off your body.”

He was close enough to smell a bit of soot in her hair, to feel her body heat rising at his directions. He decided to seal the deal.

“I can last all night. Can you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Vegeta, is that the plot thickening, or are you just happy to see Bulma? 😝
> 
> Chapter two comes courtesy of the ever awesome BVDN event series hosted by TPTH! The August drabble prompts were all about music! Look at that ridiculously adorable artwork by BianWW! I had a blast, but failed to finish the evening with a completed chapter. Writer's block hit me hard, along with a bout of "everything I just wrote is horrible and I'm deleting it now." I'm frustrated I didn't finish on the same night, but a bit of contemplation eventually got me there. I took a few liberties with the word count here and there as the work went through its last edits, so each prompt isn't exactly 300 words. 
> 
> So, who wants to try out Frettech? 🎸


	3. Lock, Meet Key

**Prompt: Reception**

In the soft blue lighting of the vault, Vegeta blinked once and consciously switched his vision into infrared as he finished his taunt. He had known there was a strong possibility that he was going to have to act like an escort tonight, but none of the intel he had received about this locksmith had indicated how freakishly Saiyan she looked. He mentally thanked himself for putting up with Raditz's instruction last night as he watched the pale skinned woman willingly lean over in anticipation of his promise to strip her down.

Mere centimeters away from his hips, she arched her back and nudged her pert ass toward him. Unbidden, she slipped her fingertips to the lower edge of the tight black dress and pulled it over her rounded curves, fully revealing the black thong that dipped between her ass. Through the heat-based vision, he saw a wave of barely controlled lust surge from her groin, up through her belly, linger around her still clothed tits, then slink up to her brain.

A curious reception to his advance, but not unwelcome. So, she was getting off on his little dominant act? He could _absolutely_ work with this.

He blinked again to set his vision back into the chromatic spectrum. As much fun as it was to watch this woman's body melt in lust, her skin was too perfect to ignore. Vegeta wasn't even sure he had ever been with an unscarred, unmarked partner.

When the woman moaned impatiently, Vegeta slipped two fingers between her thighs and brushed the tips along the plush, quickly dampening fabric covering her pussy. Her body quivered in immediate response. Vegeta stroked his fingertips against her mound, testing her responses to various spots. As they slipped between the fabric, pressing against her entrance, her knees almost buckled. A very pleased grin crossed his lips.

“Spread those legs apart and put your hands on the couch. I'll take you soon enough.” Vegeta took a step away from her just as she turned her head. She looked pissed at the command, but her flushed face told him what was her decision would be.

“Now.”

**Prompt: First Class**

The woman pursed her lips at the command. Vegeta waited, just staring at her. According to Raditz, that's all he needed to do.

–

“Be smug and shut up. It doesn't work for me, but half the chicks on our ship, along with eighty percent of the dudes, can't seem to contain themselves around your first class, broody ass,” Raditz argued. He was actually trying to be helpful, but Vegeta could tell that his subordinate was annoyed by this supposed fact.

–

He watched her bright eyes sparkle with indignation. She was a proud one and her look alone could rule planets. Even so, he could tell she wanted to play along, but was hesitating. He wanted to spend the entire night touching every part of that perfect flesh, pressing her lush curves against his body, feeling her surrender over and over. He wanted to hear her beg to take her again until she collapsed in a sweaty, sticky mess. But, she needed something more from him before she could fully give in. She needed an excuse to surrender.

Vegeta grunted in annoyance and turned to look at the door of the vault. That did it.

In his peripheral vision, he saw her shift her feet, spread her legs, and lower her shoulders so her hands could rest on the couch. Her dress pooled above her breasts, revealing a matching black bra he couldn't wait to rip off. Without turning his head, he furrowed his brows.

“Wider.”

This time, he watched. Her head dropped forward as she swallowed a breath and shifted her feet apart one more time. Her high heels caused her hips to angle back, revealing the now glistening fabric straining to cover her pussy. Vegeta licked his lips in anticipation.

“That's a good fuckdoll,” Vegeta finally took a step forward and slapped the underside of her exposed ass, just above her thigh. Following her chirping yelp, he slid two fingers underneath the gusset of the thong, deliberately brushing his knuckles between her damp lips, then yanked the pitiful fabric off her skin.

**Prompt: Champagne**

As his fingers teased along the length of her pussy, Bulma released a breathy gasp. She knew she had completely lost control of this situation, but a fuzzy feeling in her brain convinced her that she didn't care. She had already won by getting this guy into the vault, with the box, and his shirt off. The fact that this absolutely carved out specimen of a man was about to fuck her all night long was just a bonus.

Behind her, she could feel his still-clothed legs brush against her thighs. The fabric of his battle suit was surprisingly slick, like some kind of hybrid of leather and silk. Just as her brain was about to try and figure out the construction of the synthetic material, he interrupted her thoughts by slipping two fingers between her pussy lips and spread her wide open, as if he were inspecting her body. Her face lit on fire and she dropped her forehead closer to the couch. This wasn't her first time with someone experienced, but holy hell she hadn't expected _this_. He didn't help by issuing another crude order with that gravely, dark voice.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers.”

Just as he spoke, she felt two fingertips press against her very needy entrance but stop short of actually pushing in. The tease created a heady effect in her mind, as if she had downed her fifth glass of champagne and she felt her sense of self drift further away. At some point, she remembered that she had wanted to control this situation. But not now. She ached to give in, to hear another order, to follow, to surrender.

With abandon, she obeyed and pushed her hips back, splaying her body on his fingers with an audible squirt of moisture. Bulma bit her lip and swallowed down a moan as her pussy began to stretch around his fingers, realizing fully now, she was a very willing puppet. As she pressed her hips back against his knuckles, he rewarded her with a thumb circling her clit.

**Prompt: Hotel Suite**

When he didn't pull his fingers out, Bulma whimpered, realizing he really was expecting her to rock her hips if she wanted anything more. Her muscles tensed around his fingers in silent betrayal of her desire and his other hand landed a second smack on the underside of her ass.

“Just admit that you want this and move your hips. Stop pretending you don't.” She could hear the faintest amusement in his voice as he waited for her compliance yet again.

The hot sting on her ass traveled through her body and caused her muscles to clench again. Letting out a gasp, she began rocking her hips against his hand, fucking her pussy on his firm fingers. As she picked up a steady, but slow rhythm, she felt his fingers twist inside of her, curving and searching.

Her mouth dropped open and she let her forehead rest completely on the couch. Her body was now splayed completely in front of him, impaled on his hand as his fingers found just the right spot inside her body. She cried out and lifted her legs up, the base of her heels rising off the ground.

“There, now. Doesn't being honest with me feel so much better?” His other hand slipped around her hip and gripped her firmly, as if he wanted to tug her back. Listening to his analysis of herself, Bulma felt her mind cloud further. Rocking her hips as his fingers pressed inside her body, she moaned with a distracted objection.

“No? Really?” He gripped Bulma's hip to stop her from moving, which ceased the steady stream of pleasure she had been building inside. He pulled his fingers from her body completely and gripped both sides of her hips with his hand and yanked her back against his crotch. She whimpered and tried to rock her body against his restrained, hardened cock.

“So you didn't bring me to this electronic hotel suite to be spread and fucked?” Before she could form a response, the soldier leaned over her back, licked a short line along her spine, and dropped his voice. “I think you're lying.”

**Prompt: Couples Massage**

Vegeta was on the verge of forgetting why he came out here in the first place. With every moan, twist, and grind, the blue-haired woman slipped into his mind like a cool drug. For each response, he wanted two more. For each touch, he wanted to grip her tighter, closer, deeper. As he ran his tongue along her spine, the taste of salty perspiration against her porcelain smooth skin turned dimmed something else in his brain.

His tail unfurled from above his hips and wrapped firmly around the woman's waist, dangling her body a bit away from his own. Able to free his hands, he shoved down the waist of his pants. He heard the woman make a strange sound, but traced another lick along her spine as he positioned his cock at her entrance. He paused, pressing the swollen head in just enough to stretch her, and took a deep breath of her scent.

The woman whimpered and tried to pull her body against the the fuzzy restraint. He knew that she wanted his cock to fill her, but his tail held her steady until he was sure she was absolutely ready. In a swift movement, he reached under her body and yanked the remains of her bra off her chest. Still holding his hips apart from hers, he slipped his palms along the underside of her round breasts and brushed his fingertips across her newly exposed nipples.

She arched her back in response and gasped audibly. Wanting more from her, he trapped both her taut nipples between his fingers and thumb and squeezed, tugging them down. This time, she rolled her hips around, practically bucking in anticipation. A couple more well-placed massages and he would have her begging for the rest of the night.

Once more, he rolled her nipples around in his fingertips, then released her breasts to the cool air of the room. He reached for the dress pooled at her shoulders and whipped it over her head, causing it to fall to the couch. Standing up, he pressed his cock further into her waiting pussy, enough so the ridge of the head popped past her tight entrance.

**Prompt: Sex on the Beach**

Bulma closed her eyes as the soldier's length pressed into her core, stretching her with infuriating restraint. Her fingers gripped the edge of the couch and she tried one last time to push her hips back against his, but the furry appendage around her waist kept her still. She could hear the rumble of his voice again, but not clearly, yet her body moved to his requests.

“Yes! Please,” she pleaded. With a quick thrust, he shoved several more inches into her, but his hips still didn't connect to hers.

Immediately, her mind slapped her senses back and made a quick calculation regarding his length. Her womb shuddered in delight as she realized that there was still more cock to fill her needy pussy. He paused again, holding steady behind her as her muscles also adjusted to his girth and in response, she let out a slow moan of anticipation.

Eager for more, she brought one hand between her legs and slipped her fingers between her soaked lips and stroked the girth of his shaft. When his palm smacked her ass for the third time, she blushed and reveled in the chastisement.

It had been much, much too long since she had been able to let go like this, and this man was reading her like a book. Her last partner, a gray skinned Makyan with a promising tongue, had offered a “decadent beach romance” but instead only delivered a disappointingly quick grind by the sandy landing docks. Every single partner in her past had withered under her personality and the sex had always been tepid at best. Even her last human partner on Earth had refused to actually move past missionary “out of respect for her.” Whatever _that_ meant.

This man seemed to thrive on pushing her buttons, didn't back down from her advances, and had the attitude to push her over the edge but the restraint to notice her interest level. His touch ran through her body with a warm pulse and his voice broke through every false resistance she threw up. They fit together, oh so nicely.

The recognition of this compatibility hit her like a ton of bricks and she suddenly wasn't sure if she could deal with the thought that this would be her only night with him. She briefly opened her eyes, glanced back over the illuminated RSSC table past his armor, and spotted the box.

“Fuck me like a million credits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story finally continues courtesy of the final mature BVDN of the year! This month's theme was "Honeymoon". While great for a mature theme, this actually threw my story for a loop because by the time we got to the smutty prompts, my story was already hot and heavy. Playing loose with the prompts came to the rescue, but a day late for the final prompt! Be sure to check out all the drabbles for this evening! There were LOTS of participants and everyone was writing furiously. The stories went in so many delightful directions. Honestly, these drabble evenings are such a blast. Thank you Crystal Rose for hosting!
> 
> Moving forward, I honestly haven't decided if this is the end of the story or if more is on the way. It feels bittersweet just like this, but I'm somewhat curious about that damn box! Should we keep going?
> 
>   
> **Update Nov. 2019:**  
>  ALSO ... My dear. 🙏😭🖤💙🖤💙🖤💙  
> I am entirely honored to receive a THREE nominations for The Prince and The Heiress 2019 Awards this year. I am **floored!** I've just started writing in the Vegebul community this year, so I can't thank everyone enough for their comments, kudos, and amazing support in the Discord communities.  
> 
> 
> _The Scientific Trials_ has been tapped for the category of Best Canon Divergent.  
>  _Paozu Fashion Week_ has been tapped for the category of Best of the Kudos (100 or less)  
>  _Locksmith_ has been tapped for the category of Best of the BVDNs
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you to the utterly amazing people who nominated these stories! ❤️️❤️️ I do promise that chapter 10 of The Scientific Trials will eventually get posted, and chapter 3 of Paozu Fashion Week is currently in development! Please check out ALL the amazing authors and artists starting Nov. 16 at [TPTH's website](http://theprinceandtheheiress.com/the-annual-awards/) and don't forget to vote!


	4. Unlocked

Bulma shifted her back against a warm wall of muscle, her arm dropping off the edge of the couch. The movement was enough to cause the soldier to remove his arm from her hip and twist his face down into the fabric with a snore. She blinked and raised her freed hand to the RSSC table. With a few silent finger taps, she activated the display and noted the time.

`03:12 Lune`

Reluctant to leave the warmth his body, she arched her neck to spy their clothing flung to the other side of the room. The small, rectangular lump under his glove sent a flutter of excitement from her brain to her fingers, urging her to investigate. With the man deep asleep, this was the perfect time to investigate the contents of his illicit prize. Like a leaf on a tumbling brook, she slipped from the couch quietly, touching the floor with as little disturbance to the sleeping man as possible.

She stood and stretched. Really stretched. Her muscles gave no complaint to the new soreness that roamed her body, and another shiver passed through her body, settling into rarely shared corners. She turned to look at the man again. The line of his lats angled dramatically down his back, creating a chiseled point to his waist. It was only the brown tail, partially covering his hip, that spoiled the illusion of humanity.

Bulma traced her fingertips along her thigh and smiled slowly. Human he was not, but that appendage had been a welcome surprise. Taking note of his slow, even breathing, she guessed he was deep into his sleep cycle. Still, she wanted to complete her work without interruption. On tip toe, she slipped over to the pile of clothes, pulled the box free of his uniform, grabbed her discarded tool wallet, then continued into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

With a tap on the wall panel, Bulma turned the lights on low and wrapped a towel around her body. Sitting on the edge of the tub, she spread the tool wallet across her lap and flicked open the leather flap. She pulled out a one sided magnifying glass and hooked the edge over her right ear, brushing the side to activate the tiny electronics.

“Zoom 100,” she whispered. The digital glass rotated a holographic lens and magnified the surface of the box. “Let's see what this class six really holds.”

Selecting a thin tool with a hooked end, she inserted the lock pick underneath the visible locking mechanism and began to hunt for the safety release of the decoherance fail safe. With a scratch, she felt the tool hook then held it still, setting the box on her lap. Using her free hand, she pulled out a secondary pick, extremely thin with a half ball end, and slid it next to the hook. With a twist of her wrist, she felt a button decompress and sink the width of a flattened grain of sand.

Bulma removed the hook but left the ball pick inserted to keep the button locked down. She set the hooked tool back into its pocket and pulled out a tension wrench, a thin length of metal, bent to opposing 90 degree angles at each end. She inserted it into the key hole of the cylinder, fooling the mechanism to act as if a key had been inserted and folded her body in half to hold the wrench with her teeth. With her hand free again, she selected a groove pick as well as her triple rake, a flat length of metal with wavy edges. Holding the groove pick with her pointer and thumb, she slipped it into the channel well above the mechanism's warding and began rubbing its curved tip along the internal divots to set the driver pins. She held the rake between her ring finger and pinkie in reserve.

_I really need to build that cybernetic appendage for myself. I wonder how dexterous that guy's tail is?_

Distracted by the unbidden thoughts of her tryst, she grinned and almost dropped the tension wrench between her teeth. Thankfully her knuckles managed to keep everything in place while she maneuvered the groove pick around to twist the pins inside the complex lock. In the quiet bathroom, she listened intently, counting until she heard twelve.

_Eleven. Hmm. One pin is stuck._

Removing the groove pick, she wiggled her fingers in an acrobatic wave to drop the pick into her lap and reposition the rake between her pointer and thumb. Deftly, she slipped the rake into the channel. With a few soft shimmies along the internal travel, she heard the click to set the final pin in place. Bulma removed the rake, dropping it into her lap and took hold of the tension wrench.

“Link view to tension wrench.” This time, her smart glass blipped black, resetting the image. A second later, a tiny camera image showed the tip of the tension wrench looking down the unlocked channel of the lock. At the back of the channel, a secondary lock, no wider than a human hair waited for the box's specialized key that would fully deactivate the decoherance fail safe from destroying the contents.

_Thought so._

Leaning over, she held the tension wrench with her lips again and selected her handmade filament pick. One invention she couldn't live without. The octagonal handle surrounded a finely molded length of nanocarbon fiber and could fit into any crevasse. Shutting her left eye, she focused her attention on the wrench's camera feed and slowly inserted the filament pick into the cylinder.

Gritting her teeth, she watched the fiber slip into the thin secondary lock and listened for the shape of the internal mechanism. One false move and she would set off the fail safe and destroy the item inside. With the steadiness of a sunrise, she raised her fingers to press the filament along the lock. Holding everything steady would have been easier in her shop with a vice, but she was thankful for the extreme sound dampening the vault offered this procedure. A faint snap sent pressure against the filament.

_There!_

The fiber slipped further into the secondary lock and linked to the hidden pin. With the tiniest twist of her thumb, she felt the lock release just as she heard a groan come from outside the bathroom.

_Fuck. He's waking up. Hurry!_

“Link off,” she hissed. The screen blinked off, leaving her looking through blue tinted smart glass. Outside the bathroom, she heard the man shuffling through his clothing.

“Woman?” He grunted, but didn't sound completely awake just yet.

She quickly pulled out the filament pick and twisted the tension wrench, fully unlocking the box. She flicked away the ball pick, now that the trap was deactivated and opened the box. Outside, she heard him growl in frustration and items tossed about.

Bulma blinked. Inside the box that could have vaporized its contents out of existence sat a key. But not just a standard metal key.

“WOMAN!” The soldier roared and banged on the door. “Open immediately before I vaporize you. I know you have my box in there!”

_Fuuuuuuuu...._

Bulma grabbed a tracker seed from the wallet and instantly attached it to the underside of the key's collar. She was pretty sure the soldier didn't know what the contents of his box looked like, so an extra nub on the key would go unnoticed and hopefully give her time to find him and the treasure this key undoubtedly lead to later.

The naked soldier crashed through the door, showering the bathroom with splinters. Bulma shrieked, shielded her eyes with one arm and held out the open box with her other as her tool wallet and contents scattered across her feet.

“Dammit! What the hell??” Bulma screamed at him. “Aren't you PAYING to have this thing unlocked? What's the problem?!”

The soldier snatched the box out of her hand and stormed out of the bathroom. Bulma stood and used the towel around her body to brush debris off her face, catching a glimpse of her one-night lover's tail as he stomped back into the sitting area. She exited the bathroom and watched him brood over the opened box.

“Anyway,” she huffed. “Besides settling up for my services, you're now going to pay for that door. I'm not letting Akus revoke my membership here because you decided to have a hissy fit.” Bulma crossed her arms and stood across the RSSC table watching the man. He stood with his back to her, his tail flicking with short, agitated jerks across taut muscles. Her eyes drifted to his back, his thighs, his hips, and the stamina he called on to keep his promise hours earlier.

_Dear Kami. What is this guy carved from? His endurance was unreal. I can't let this be my only night with him. Human or not. PTO or not._ She swallowed the thoughts and sighed.

-

Vegeta stared into the box, half listening to the locksmith's complaint, trying to focus on the key instead of the shape of her body under that thin towel she wore and the little sighs she kept exhaling to tamp down her rising libido. Discretely, he tapped the key with his fingertip, causing it to shift color.

“So what you have there is a twin key. It's linked to someone's genetics and it needs its twin in order to open whatever the keys are tied to. Twin key mechanisms are one of the few locks I've ever encountered which can't be reliably picked. Unless you have the twin ..”

“I know,” he interrupted the woman's rambling, snapping the box shut. Gripping it in his fist, he turned and walked to the strewn clothes. Before he could pick up his uniform, the woman grabbed his bicep and leaned into his face.

“Payment, now. Three hundred thousand.” She glared at him but stroked her thumb across his muscle. “Last night was .. delicious, but it won't fully cover my service.” Vegeta tried not to turn and look at her. He needed to get that perfect flesh slipping beneath his palms out of his head. Eyeing the exit, he caught a glimpse of her blue hair. Unbidden, her nearness activated his senses and engulfed him with her scent. Sweat, sugar, and soot all intertwined with his own musk.

_Fuck, she's trouble. I have to get away from her._

“How about another twenty minutes pressed against that wall for twenty percent off the price?”

Vegeta stilled at her words and felt his chest tighten. She watched him considered his offer.

She released his bicep and stepped in closer, the towel over her breasts brushing against his arm. His tail absently slid against the near-Saiyan's thigh. When her fingers grazed his jaw, urging him to turn, to look her in the eyes, his mouth went dry.

“How about,” she murmured, “you just come see me again tonight?” He couldn't avoid those blue eyes, nor the memory of how her plush, soft lips had moaned for more, responding so perfectly to his instructions. The synergy between them had been beyond his wildest expectations, and within moments of starting the game with her, he had stopped acting. He was just himself, and her responses kept calling to him all night. Truth be told, he was dangerously close to abandoning his post on the ship, consequences be damned. The two hundred thousand credit chip could get the two of them to the outer reaches of PTO territory in a few weeks.

-

“Regardless of what happens, keep the mission in mind. We know that .. uh ..,” Raditz paused to clear his throat and roll his neck.

“Spit it out.” Vegeta stood up, frowning. It was late. Her shop would be closing soon. He had to get going and this endless lesson in mating techniques only reminded him that he wasn't truly a prince to his subjects. Just another Saiyan, trying to survive, no matter the humiliation.

“Well, it's been a while, Your Highness.” Raditz tried not to slump in his chair, but he really didn't want to attract additional ire from the prince.

“A while for what, Raditz?” Vegeta walked to the doorway and waited.

“For fuck's sake, Vegeta,” Nappa grumbled. “Since you've rutted for fun. Been seven cycles by my count and this one sounds like a ripe breeder.”

Thankful he was already facing the exit, Vegeta felt his face burn, both from the accusation of inexperience and Nappa's crude suggestion that women were just tools.

“Who gives a shit? I don't FAIL my missions!” His fingers gripped the doorway hard enough to warp the metal frame before he spun on his subordinates. “You should both train more anyway!”

As he flew from the room, Radtiz's signal chirped on his scouter. “Just don't get sucked in. We're depending on you, Your Highness.”

-

The gravity of what he was truly about to give up for a simple pleasure suddenly struck his gut. He frowned and placed his hand atop hers on his cheek.

_Well, not that simple. If her hair was just a bit darker ..._

With a gentleness he hadn't practiced in a decade, he pulled her hand away then leaned down to collect his uniform. He pulled on his pants first, ignoring her disappointed sigh, and tugged at the waistband to reveal a flat sewn pocket by the hip.

“Two hundred thousand.” He gave her the credit chip and quickly slipped his hands behind the small of her back, drawing her body against his. “And a promise to see you tonight.” Before she could argue, he pressed his lips to hers, tasting perfection one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very thankful to whichever reader nominated Locksmith for the annual TPTH Awards! 💙 My thought at the news was, if the story won, I'd keep developing it through the drabble nights. But if not, I'd forge ahead with an outline and keep the story going regardless. Locksmith didn't win, so I spent a snowy winter evening with an amazing flight of beers and the best fried chicken in the city while outlining the remaining chapters of this story. So here we go! I'm hoping to make each chapter about the same length, but no promises there.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy the story. This is likely to be the most technical chapter overall, but come on. I can't make Bulma a locksmith and then never actually show off her trade. A simple search of lock picking tools will take you to some silhouetted images of most of what she uses here, with the exception of her personal invention. And if you're really curious how to crack a lock, I highly recommend the LockpickingLawyer on Youtube. Ever wanted to crack into a lock using a juice bottle? He'll help you with that. 
> 
> Comments and critical feedback always welcome :D


	5. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Some graphic violence.

“I am not surprised, Zarbon.” The diminutive lizard turned his floating throne to the massive window of his observation room. Beyond the edge of his flagship, stars spread across a spattering of nebula gas that steadily grew closer.

Tipping his stemmed glass to his mouth, he sipped the last viscous drops of the rufescent dram with a flick of his tongue. Before he could raise his finger for a refill, a simpering blue crustacean like creature with vapid eyes removed the empty vessel from Frieza's hand and offered up a fresh drink. The Meatian bowed as it took the empty glass, backing up without looking at the ice demon. In the reflection of the thick window, Zarbon saw his master sneer before taking a sip. He may not have been surprised, but he was still annoyed. Hoping to get ahead of a punishment, Zarbon offered the specific details.

“The Crew Entrance was being monitored by the Ague team two nights ago, but I see that Ginyu ordered them back to the security lounge for a few minutes. Would you like me to bring them up here to explain why the Prince was able to skirt outside of their watch? It would take only a moment, my Lord.” Zarbon asserted, but paused at just the right moment. The verbal dance with Frieza was one he had mastered long ago. Of course, the extra time he put in behind the throne helped temper most of Frieza's outbursts. Neither he, nor his knees cared.

“Don't be stupid,” Frieza scoffed and sipped his drink again. “Who do you think gave the order to Ginyu?”

A bolt of fear hit Zarbon's stomach and practice made him bow at the waist deeply, to acknowledge Frieza's leadership and his personal error. “Of course, my Lord.”

“That stupid monkey is chasing a shadow and I have front row seats. It will still be a while before he finds the companion key. But you will find out who helped him with that box.” He spun the chair around and curved a finger at the nearby servant who held a bottle of his drink. Wordlessly, the creature stepped up to the floating throne, eyes on the floor.

The bottle hit the floor before the creature's body. Used to such random displays of violence, Zarbon barely glanced at the dead servant. He did note, with some passing amusement, how the drink he had served Frieza began to shift color with the pool of purple blood on the floor.

“Get that cleaned up, and take care of its family too. This was the most pathetic attempt at a poisoning yet.” Frieza dropped the glass on the mutilated, charred head of the servant before floating his throne out of the room. As his master left, Zarbon bowed deeply, and tried not to think about how long it would take his knees to heal after tonight.

–

“Dammit, Nappa!” Raditz rubbed the side of his head where the massive Saiyan had landed a disciplinary blow. Nappa crossed his arms. The matter was settled unless Raditz needed another reminder of his rank.

“Enough, boy. The deed is done and the particulars aren't your business. Leave his Highness alone.” Nappa barked at his subordinate before turning back to the Prince. “The duty schedule was surprisingly easy to access, Vegeta. Looks like the same crew has been rotating through the forequarters of Frieza's chambers for about a cycle. If we tried to eliminate one, he'll notice, so we'll have to figure something else.”

Vegeta leaned back in the single chair he had been allotted in his quarters. His room was pathetic by royal standards, but a hell of lot nicer than the general crew's deck where most of the soldiers had to sleep capsule style in stacked bunks. As an added bonus, his room was near one of the primary ion engines; the steady noise, he had discovered, rendered listening devices useless, even if it had taken multiple cycles for Vegeta to learn how to sleep through the racket. He scrolled through the duty roster on the small tablet, trying to decipher which person should be the target.

“I don't know any of these cretins.” Vegeta tossed the tablet to Raditz. “But I bet you do, or can. It would be too suspicious if I start hobnobbing with the lowers. Choose three that line up with Frieza's absences.”

“We don't have the money to pay them off, Vegeta.” Raditz mumbled and started going through the list.

“Nor do we intend to. Just get to know them, then meet up with them on their way to the shift. Do your … thing.” Vegeta stood and cracked his shoulder with a stretch.

“My thing?”

“Drunk and dunked, you meat head.” Nappa dropped his arms and waited on Vegeta.

Raditz licked his lips and grinned. “My kinda mission.”

“Half an hour to think about it, then get your ass to the training deck,” said Nappa. With that, he bumped Raditz from the Prince's quarters.

–

The cat-like soldierpressed his back to the hallway outside Frieza's private quarters and swallowed a breath. The man who had pinned his hands over his shoulders was out of uniform, but Raditz was unmistakable. Instead of his usual PTO armor, the hulking Saiyan had on a pair of semi loose fitting breeches and a skin tight top that hugged every massive curve on his arms and chest. Behind him, a massive brown tail swayed languidly. In response, the man perked the ears sticking out of his light, blue mane.

“How about it, Kino?” The final words were spoken low, with Raditz's lips moving closer to Kino's jaw. Over the past week, Raditz had enjoyed wooing the lithe lieutenant. He was pleasantly surprised that the two men could communicate through low growls and tail flicks. And last night in the Crew's Cantina, he had wrapped his tail over the man's thigh and found him more than wanting. “Don't worry. We may be quick, and it will definitely be dirty, but you know it will be better than Riko. And no, I don't kiss and tell. She won't know.”

Raditz kept his hands on the wall, but his body at a close distance, enough for Kino to feel his latent heat. Sure, he was purposely boosting that with a low aura of his ki, and sure, he new that Kino'sSnackian physiology was particularly sensitive to ki, but he wasn't about to break the rules.

Consent only. Didn't need anyone bitching to upper ranks about the Saiyans.

“But will you bite?”Kino reached his hand out and tentatively grazed his bluefingers along Radtiz's carved side.

_Almost there._

“What you want is a bit lower,” Raditz dropped his voice to a husky growl and let a hot breath filter across Kino'sexposed neck before leaning back up to stare into his eyes. “The real question is, where do want my teeth?”

–

Nappa cleared his throat and tapped his scouter **.**

“Raditz is … successful. We have about ten minutes.” Nappa hastily translated his subordinate's lewd update for Vegeta, opting to leave out the bit about how 'much' Raditz was in.

The two exited the galley and moved with purpose, but not alarm. They stopped by a supply roomon the way. Vegeta quickly ducked behind a large pile of supply crates. In an instant, he collected the twin keys from a hidden panel and they were on their way to Frieza's unattended quarters. Keeping the items in his room would have been the easiest way to receive an extra beating. While he knew his quarters weren't bugged, he did know they weren't private. Daily inspections of the officer's quarters gave Frieza an easy excuse to beat his strongest. The inspectors reported anything out of place to the lizard tyrant.

Moments later, they had successfully arrived at Frieza's private deck. Guards never questioned the arrival of the Saiyans. The top fighting crews of the PTO had regular audiences with Frieza. Both for briefings and beatings. The two passed through the entrance hall and made their way to the back of the throne room where a guard should have been. To the side of the viewing window, a surprisingly mundane door led the way into Frieza's quarters. They tapped their scanners, double-checking that the lizard was off deck.

“No power signal. We're clear,” Nappa whispered.

They opened the door and walked into the elongated chambers. Not wanting to linger in this familiar room of horrors, Vegeta moved quickly to a safe displayed on the side wall. Nappa stood behind him, watching the door.

The Prince pulled the two twin keys from the inside of his left glove, and inserted one after another into the odd double lock. Putting a hand on each key, he turned them in tandem.

With an audible clunk, the safe opened. The door pushed outward automatically. Vegeta opened the door completely and let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

“It's real, Nappa. That bastard wasn't lying for a change.” Vegeta managed to keep his voice low while ignoring the shock of ice in his stomach. From the day Frieza had absently mentioned the dusty tome given to him by Vegeta's father, before the Prince had been swept into service, before the destruction of his home to this moment, the small band of remaining Saiyans had quested through their spare time over the past two galactic years. Every spare moment had been in pursuit of hunting the keys and gathering funds they thought they might need. Of course Frieza had brushed off the gift as a box of ancient religious trash of a newly dying race, but Nappa had known what the book truly held. The secrets of Ascension. Written by the first of his kind and passed down through the royal line.

And now, the last of that line reached his hand inside and pulled out a well-crafted, dusty book. The cover was made of some kind of animal hide and had his royal crest carved in as a repeated symbol. The pattern was mesmerizing, and Vegeta couldn't help but run his gloved fingers across the surface. “It's … _real_.”

“Get the keys, Vegeta. We must go,” Nappa counseled in a low voice.

Vegeta tucked the book under his arm, closed the safe, retrieving the two keys, and tucked them back into his glove. He stood and made sure everything looked undisturbed. When a mindful blip from Raditz popped up on their scouters, the pair hurried to the chamber exit. Nappa left first and before Vegeta could shut the door behind himself, he crashed into his subordinate.

“What the..”

“And there's the littlest monkey!”

Vegeta's blood froze. They had forgotten to check their scouters for Frieza's presence in the throne room before leaving and just walked straight into the tyrant. There was no way to hide their theft and no means of escape. Vegeta couldn't immediately recall a moment he felt closer to death.

“Now, now. You know I can't stand bashful behavior.” Frieza stood at the bottom of his dais, hands behind his back. His posture was straight and still, but his eyes tracked their movements with dark glee. Behind him, his whip of a tail rose and smashed the steps with such fervor, the beams buckled. “Come. Here.”

Nappa and Vegeta moved to the center of the room without a sound. Death may have been moments away, but Vegeta would face it like a Saiyan. Nappa seemed to have other ideas and bowed, clumsily.

Frieza chortled and watched Vegeta. The Prince had long learned that punishments came from his reactions, not his arguments, and so he ignored Nappa. If they lived, he would beat the man for his cowardice later.

There were no excuses offered, so the Prince and the Tyrant stared one another down in silence.

“Commander, you are dismissed,” said Frieza.

Vegeta stopped himself before he uttered a breath of surprise, but failed to hide it on his face. When Frieza saw the Prince's eyebrow twitch, the lizard raised one finger and shot a thin beam of energy at Nappa's wrist, severing his massive hand from his arm. The appendage dropped to the floor with a bloody splat. Nappa looked down for the source of the sound first, only then did the pain register through his body. Unbidden, he roared and dropped to his knees, gripping his severed wrist tightly with his other hand.

“I would guess you have about five minutes to get yourself to a healing pod, or you will just have to be a stumpy monkey from now on.” Frieza spat with amusement. “Dismiss yourself, Commander. I have … business with your Prince.”

“Go!” Vegeta hissed at Nappa, trying not to illicit any further reaction from Frieza. Vegeta nudged Nappa's severed hand with his boot, moving it closer to his injured comrade. Through heavy moans, Nappa managed to grab his hand and stand. As he did, his cheeks puffed grotesquely.

“Don't!” Vegeta warned.

Nappa's flesh was pale, but he managed to swallow the bile that threatened to spill onto the throne room floor. He turned and exited the chamber without so much as a bow. When the door was shut, Vegeta pulled his eyes from the bloodstain and back to Frieza.

“Open it.” Frieza said.

Vegeta pulled the book from the crook of his arm and held it with two hands. He paused and for a brief moment, pricks of danger crept up his spine. The fur on the base of his tail puffed with instinctual warning. This was a set up.

“Monkeys who can't understand orders don't need ears. Open it, or I'll take yours.”

Gritting his teeth, Vegeta opened the heavy cover and tried not to be obvious about leaning back.

Frieza chortled and took a few steps toward Vegeta. “Afraid of a _book_. No wonder you are all so simple!”

Vegeta sneered and looked down at the pages. It _was_ just a book.

The pages were made of simple paper and had a variety of scrawlings with odd symbols along the edges. He could barely make out individual sentences, much less individual words. The script was fluid, but inconsistent in its size. Some of the letters, if you could call them that, had similar shapes, while others stretched across the width of the page. It had obviously been scribed with care, but in what language? It wasn't SaiyaGo. It didn't look anything like what he could remember of Tufflian. And it didn't resemble the faint memories of Royal Arzu, a formal language kept among the elites he had been taught as a cub. He flipped the page.

More of the same, more symbols that didn't really resemble anything. Scribbles, maybe. Some of the words were even crossed out.

_What is this?_

Vegeta's eyes darted over the manuscript as his hands flipped page after page with increasing speed. Time stalled for him and his body went rigid with realization.

He was going to die for a book of gibberish.

“Now you understand.” Frieza closed the distance between them and crushed Vegeta's neck beneath his tail. Vegeta dropped the book and grabbed at the tail. It took every ounce of his strength to keep from having his windpipe crushed. “Your pathetic legends are just a whelp's practice book.”

Frieza put his face next to Vegeta's ear and whispered, “It is garbage. Like you.”

Vegeta wanted to roar, but Frieza shot a scaled fist across his jaw with such force, Vegeta felt the newly formed air pocket in his mouth from the dislocation. Another fist smashed at his eye socket, crushing the scouter glass into his flesh with abandon.

Vegeta's world began to darken but with his body under a furious attack, he was jolted into consciousness again and again. His ribs shattered and punctured a lung when Frieza flung his captive's body to the floor like a wet cloth. When Vegeta managed to cough up a sizable volume of blood, Frieza laughed and stepped on his right arm, shattering the bones above his wrist.

“Oh, Guards!” Frieza couldn't contain a giggle. Beatings always brightened his day. He stepped on Vegeta's back and crushed a shoulder with a sickening pop. Four soldiers entered the throne room and dropped to one knee, careful not to gawk or show a hint of disgust. Fear, the lizard enjoyed, but he never tolerated judgment from lesser beings.

“Take the Prince to the healing bay, but inform the medics that he will receive no pain suppressants.”

Frieza scooped his three-toed foot under the mangled body on the ground and lifted it with a punt. Vegeta's body slammed against the back wall of the throne room and finally, he passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Both Meatians and Snackians are canon races! The Snackians here are named after two awesome real snacks. Kino comes from "Kinoko no Yama", chocolate covered cookies designed to look like mushrooms (a personal favorite of mine), and Riko comes from Jagariko Sticks, which are basically little potato strips.


End file.
